West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

“The story was in every newspaper and all over the TV. They were flying to a political rally. Five people died, but one survived—trapped in her seat for two days. Shannon. She’s Nathan Bradley’s daughter.”

  “I remember! Shannon Bradley! But I didn’t know.”

  “Shannon doesn’t talk about it much. She was hurt pretty bad herself, almost died, then spent months in a rehabilitation center. Her leg, her left leg, still gives her trouble sometimes.”

  “I saw that she limped slightly.”

  “It was hard on her emotionally, too. That’s why I thought she could talk to Dub, maybe help him adjust. That is, if the worst happens.”

  Christine was silent, remembering how she’d spumed Shannon’s overtures of friendship. But her position here didn’t leave room for friendship, not until her claim was accepted.

  “Morgan’s been great about coming home to help out,” Harriet went on. “Leaving his job, taking over Dub’s responsibilities—”

  Christine stood up. “Erin!” she called, cutting off Harriet’s words. She did not want to hear about Morgan Hughes! “Come here, sweetheart. We’re going inside.”

  Harriet rose to her feet, too. “I suppose I’d better get moving myself. I’m on my way over to help Shannon put up some wallpaper in Rafe’s kitchen. Later on, why don’t you come by? I promise we won’t put you to work, not unless you’re an expert. We could sure use the help of an expert right now.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Christine murmured. Then when Erin ran up to her, she placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders and they walked back to Mae’s house.

  MORGAN BIDED his time. He waited two days, then made sure he was in the right place at exactly the right instant.

  He knew something of Christine’s daily schedule from Marie—breakfast around eight-thirty, a picnic lunch outside at noon, an afternoon walk alone, dinner at seven with Mae. Certain information came from personal observation. Even though he was busy during the day, his evenings were his own, and for three nights straight, from dusk to eleven, he had kept an invisible watch.

  “She puts on a good front,” Marie had opined. “But underneath she’s afraid. I don’t know what of, but I’d guess it has to do with the little girl. She’s crazy about her.”

  Christine Grant’s life seemed to center around Erin. When the breeze drifted in the right direction at night, he could hear them talking after they went upstairs, hear the laughter they shared, the way she encouraged the little girl while also gently guiding her.

  On all three nights after turning out the light at ten, she came to stand in the open balcony door, leaning against the frame, hardly moving for the next half hour.

  It was then that Morgan had the hardest time not remembering the way naked attraction had sparked between them that afternoon in her bedroom. The way she’d looked at him. God, he could still feel the heat that had surged through his body! He had wanted her then like he never remembered wanting a woman before. Completely, totally, without reason.

  With each day that passed he could feel himself being pulled in again. He had started to look forward to those moments when she’d come to stand in the open doorway. Work was something to be gotten through on the way to evening.

  At home, in his own bed, he’d force himself to look at the developing situation clearly. What the hell was wrong with him? She could easily be a cheat, out to take from the Parkers what was rightfully theirs. Some people would go to any lengths where money was involved. It was his duty to stay objective. His duty to himself and to the Parkers. And yet, at night, in the moonlight, he waited and watched.

  Her afternoon walks were designed to be solitary, her time alone while Erin was napping. And she took care to stay on a course where she’d be least likely to come upon anyone. Because she didn’t want to be asked inconvenient questions?

  He startled her when he stepped out from behind one of the adobe pillars that marked the head of the curving drive. She jumped, momentarily looked poised to run, but as he’d witnessed before, she quickly readied herself for battle.

  “Go away!” she snapped.

  “I came to apologize,” he said.

  She brushed past him. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  He fell into step beside her. She walked at an angry pace. Luckily for him he had longer legs.

  “You could try,” he said pleasantly.

  She stopped to confront him, her pretty face pink from irritation and exertion. “Why?” she demanded. “Give me one good reason why I should believe anything you say.”

  Morgan wondered how she’d react if he did what he really wanted to do right then. And reason had no place in it. Most women, like most men, really weren’t very attractive when they were angry. But she was. The little flecks of gold in her hazel eyes sparked as if lit by the sun. Her expression was fierce, but fiercely proud. Her clear skin almost glowed. Her lips…He dragged his gaze away from temptation.

  “Because I’d like to teach Erin to ride, and if you’re still angry with me, you won’t let me do it.”

  The simplicity of his statement threw her off balance, deflecting her anger. He’d chosen his approach carefully.

  She regrouped quickly. “If I don’t trust you, why do you think I’d trust you with my daughter’s safety?”

  “Do you trust anyone?” he returned.

  She glared at him and strode forward, not bothering to notice if he was keeping up—which he was.

  “If you trust no one,” he continued, “then I’m no different from anyone else. No better, no worse. I told you I want to apologize and I have. Now it’s up to you to decide whether you want to hold a grudge.”

  She dismissed him. “You’re not making sense.”

  “I’d like to start over,” he said.

  “By scaring me again? That seems to be your specialty.”

  “I had good reason to scare you that day. If I’d stopped to introduce myself, the snake would have bitten Erin. That’s not what you wanted, was it?” She didn’t answer and he continued, “I meant, I’d like to start over after that. After I brought you to my home. My mother said I was being rude to you and I was. So.I’m apologizing.”

  She stopped walking again and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “This is too easy,” she said.

  “Do you want me to do penance?” he rejoined.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged, tapping his dusty hat against the side of his leg before settling it back on his head. “Then, I guess that answers my question.” He lightly touched the hat’s brim. “Sorry to have bothered you,” he said, and walked away.

  He moved forward naturally, not fast, not slow. Just when he seriously thought she’d called his bluff, she said his name.

  “Morgan?”

  He turned slowly, not letting his elation show on his face. “Yep?”

  Damn! She looked even more appealing when she was uncertain. It was the first time he had seen her with such an expression. Even if it was only there for an instant.

  She straightened her shoulders and said firmly, “All right. If you want to teach Erin to ride, you can.”

  “Apology accepted, then?”

  She gave a short nod.

  A smile pulled at his lips, one she didn’t return. “Tell Erin I’ll come get her after dinner this evening,” he said.

  “Us,” she corrected. “I’m coming, too.”

  “You want to learn to ride?”

  “No, Mr. Hughes. I’m just there to watch. I barely know you. I’m not about to let you take my daughter off by yourself.”

  “I liked it better when you called me Morgan.”

  “Don’t push your luck,” she retorted, then turned on her heel and retraced her path to the curving driveway.

  Morgan had no idea whether she was going back to Mae’s or altering the course she’d previously set because she thought that was the way he planned to walk. Either way, she made it plain she’d been in his company long enough.

  Morgan
stood watching her. There was a nice little sway to her hips as she walked, causing the skirt she was wearing to move rhythmically against her calves. “Mm-mmm!” he murmured appreciatively, before he, too, went on his way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “SHE’S A NATURAL!” Morgan said as he came to stand beside Christine at the flat board fence that separated one pen from another. He had chosen to teach Erin to ride in a pen, instead of the corral, he’d said, because a pen’s smaller size was less intimidating. “She rides like she’s been doing it all her life. Are you sure she hasn’t had lessons?”

  “Never. Not unless the nuns at the last school she attended brought in horses at recess.”

  Morgan shook his head, watching Erin maneuver Junior on her own. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not with a kid who wasn’t raised on a ranch.”

  Christine bristled slightly. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

  His blue gaze alighted on her face. “Relax. I’m just saying it’s unusual. Hey, Erin,” he called to the little girl, “take him around the other way!”

  Erin grinned hugely, then very seriously urged the horse in the other direction.

  Christine watched her every move. Erin did look as if she had an instinct for what she was doing. The way she sat in the saddle, the way she showed no fear. She was comfortable on top the big steed. Not that Junior could really be termed a “steed.” He was big all right, but lazy-looking, and his main preoccupations seemed to be eating and resting. “All this generation’s Parker kids have learned on Junior,” Morgan had assured Christine when he’d first led the huge brown gelding up to them. “And they were still in diapers.”

  “She is good,” Christine murmured softly, still watching her daughter.

  “Like I said—a natural.”

  Morgan was on the other side of the fence, but his upraised elbow was next to hers, almost touching it. Christine moved a tiny bit away. It wasn’t much, but it made her feel better. She thought she’d managed it so he wouldn’t notice, but when she met his gaze, it was amused.

  “How’s Erin like bein’ here?” he drawled easily.

  Christine centered her attention back on horse and rider. “She’s okay with it.”

  “How about you?” he persisted.

  “I’m okay, too.”

  He didn’t say anything more, but he continued to watch her. She could feel his eyes on her face. Finally she turned to demand irritably, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I was just wonderin’ how I’d feel if I was in your shoes. Comin’ to a place you don’t know, havin’ to deal with someone like Mae.”

  “Mae doesn’t scare me.”

  “She scares most people.”

  “Even you?”

  “No, but then I stay out of her way.”

  “That must be hard when you work for her.”

  “I report to Rafe. Anyway, I’m just doin’ this temporary.”

  “To help out your dad—I’ve been told.”

  “To help out the Parkers, too. They’re good people.”

  Her chin lifted. “Is that what this is all—”

  “Mommy! Look!” Erin cried.

  Christine looked round and caught her breath. Erin had encouraged Junior into a trot and was bouncing all over the place in the saddle. Somehow she was staying on, but from her own experience summers ago, Christine knew how easy it would be for Erin to fall. And in such a small enclosure, if she fell between the fence and the horse’s hooves. “Honey, be.” she started to call. But before she could complete the sentence, Morgan Hughes had stepped away from the fence to intercept the trotting duo.

  One capable hand came out to catch the bridle and slow the horse; the other reached up to steady the child. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, “I think maybe we better shift ourselves to the corral pretty soon. Get a little more space to move around in. Erin, you’ve convinced ol’ Junior here he’s a colt again. I haven’t seen him go this fast in years!”

  Erin giggled and leaned forward to pat, then hug the horse’s neck. “He’s a great horse, Morgan! Almost as good as Golden Belle!”

  The taste of fear was still in Christine’s mouth, but by swallowing hard she overcame it. She climbed up and over the fence to stand on Junior’s other side. “That was wonderful, Erin,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “I rode a horse, Mommy!” Erin cried jubilantly. “By myself!”

  The smile remained plastered on Christine’s face. She was happy that Erin had achieved one of her most cherished dreams, but as a mother, she wasn’t ready for all this. She reached up to help Erin down. “Come on, honey,” she said.

  “Let her get down herself,” Morgan instructed softly. “It’s part of the lesson.”

  Christine’s worried gaze met his. He looked so confident standing there, holding the horse steady. So strong and vital and sure.

  Erin took the decision out of Christine’s hands. She brushed aside her offer of help and swung from the saddle. “Can I come riding again tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Mr. Hughes is a busy man,” Christine said.

  “Morgan,” he corrected. “And I’m not too busy to take a half hour off here and there. Same time tomorrow, Erin? Unless something big comes up—then I’ll have to let you know.”

  “Same time,” Erin chirped, and took another moment to hug Junior’s neck.

  She looked so small pressed against the horse, but Junior’s only move was to swish his tail at an imaginary fly and lightly stomp a rear hoof.

  Then Erin surprised Christine by reaching out to Morgan’s neck. “Thank you, Morgan,” she said earnestly, hugging him, after which she quickly turned away, slipping back into shyness.

  Men—with the exception of Ira—were a fairly unknown quantity in Erin’s life. Christine had no brothers or sisters with husbands who might have provided a male influence. There was no father or grandfather around. And definitely no parade of Christine’s boyfriends passing through the house.

  Christine returned from her reverie to the realization that someone had spoken to her. She looked first at Erin, whose attention, she found, had reverted to the horse, then to Morgan Hughes—who, it was obvious, was waiting for an answer. “What?” she said awkwardly. “What did you say? I didn’t…” Her words trailed away.

  He smiled at her, which she found even more discomfiting, because there was something about him when he smiled. Something that caught her attention and held it, no matter how hard she fought not to let it happen.

  “I asked if that was all right with you,” he repeated.

  The sun was low in the western sky, lending a wonderful rosy-golden glow to the land around them. Burnishing his skin, his hair, heightening his attraction to the point that—

  ”I…Of course. Of course, I…” Christine stumbled. She had to cling to reason. She couldn’t let herself.

  What was it Harriet had said to him? Women must drop like flies? Yes, there definitely was something about a cowboy. About this cowboy in particular. An attitude, an assurance that you didn’t see every day, if ever. So it was only natural that when a person happened along who embodied such a difference, you responded. Only it wasn’t natural for her!

  Erin skipped over to clasp her hand, and Christine used the action as a way out. “Tomorrow,” she finished as firmly as she could, and turned to walk away as if nothing unusual had occurred.

  She expected him to say something, to make some kind of comment. Instead, he said nothing, and that made her all the more aware of him as she wondered why he hadn’t.

  “YOU’RE HOME EARLY tonight, son,” Dub said when Morgan, fresh from parking the pickup in front of their house, had decided to go check if his dad might still be holed up in his retreat.

  On good days, Dub had taken to spending his evenings on the long narrow porch of the workshop, sometimes sitting and doing nothing, other times attempting as best he could with his one usable hand to repair ropes and bridles.

  Morgan hung a foot on the weathered sin
gle step, but didn’t mount it. “Yeah, I decided to pack it in early tonight.” Several bridles lay out in the yard as if they’d been thrown there in frustration. Morgan motioned to the nearest. “That your handiwork?”

  “Yep,” Dub conceded grumpily. “Dang left hand! If I was gonna break somethin’, wouldn’t you think I could’ve managed to break my left arm, instead of my right? I do everythin’ with my right. Hold the phone, eat, take a…” He shifted in his chair and laughed. “Your momma was about to skin me for a while there. Told me I better get my aim fixed or else. And she meant it.”

  Morgan laughed, too. It was good to hear his fathe: crack jokes again. “Just give it a little time, Dad. Don’t rush things. It hasn’t been that long.”

  “Weeks seem like months when you’re trussed up in somethin’ like this,” Dub complained, tapping his arm brace.

  Morgan looked out over the shadowy landscape. For the past three nights he’d positioned himself outside Christine Grant’s bedroom at about this time. Tonight he decided to take a break. He’d done as Mae asked and started to move in on her. But after doing it, he wasn’t sure if he was totally happy about it. He understood the necessity, but.well, somehow it didn’t feel right.

  “Rafe rode over again today,” Dub said next. “He said things are settin’ up good for the roundup. Says you’re doin’ a fine job. Everythin’s almost ready to go.”

  “I was taught by the best,” Morgan said.

  Dub grinned an acknowledgment, then said, “Havin’ to do a lot of feedin’ this year, too, he says.”

  “That rain last week helped, but it didn’t come soon enough.”

  The weather and the condition of the cattle and the horses were the main subjects of conversation of all stockmen when they got together, even if they’d just talked about it the day before.

  Dub continued, “He says there might be some rustlers workin’ nearby. What’ve you heard? Anythin’?”

  “Sheriff Denton says it looks pretty organized. He sent his deputy—you remember Tate Connelly, Emma and Dan Connelly’s boy?—over to Debolt to sniff around. Seems twenty to thirty calves have gone missing at a time.” Dub whistled. “What does Ed Davis have to say about it?”